


To Love and Lose and Love Again

by WhisperingWerepire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Programming, Canon Compliant, Crippled Grace, Injured Sam Winchester, Librarian!Emmanuel, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No hallucinations, Praying to Castiel (Supernatural), Temporary Amnesia, but he doesn't know what's happening, normal fatal injury from a hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25150480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingWerepire/pseuds/WhisperingWerepire
Summary: Emmanuel doesn't want to bother Daphne with it. She's already done so much for him, so much that he couldn't ever hope to repay her back.Yet it's persistent. A longing that tugs and pulls at him along with a broken-up voice. It makes it hard to focus on Daphne, to give her what she wants. Especially when there's now a permanent ache in his chest, and he can't tell if it's his or the voice's.What did he lose in his past life?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Daphne Allen & Emmanuel
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This is really just how I imagined and preferred how Castiel remembered. It seems that, for his vessel to degrade and for him to lose his memories, something else should have happened. 
> 
> Or maybe that's the fangirl in me. 
> 
> Either way, enjoy!

It comes in broken sobs.

Mostly.

Emmanuel can’t say what it even is. The first time he felt it was when Daphne took him back to her house. A sharp tug at his limbs, almost begging to move towards the silent call. He almost wanted to ask Daphne what it was, perhaps it was a shard or phantom memory the doctor warned him about, but then the feeling came with a noise. A quiet noise, sounding as if it was spoken at full volume and so far away it only came as whisper. A noise that Emmanuel knew did not exist outside his own mind.

_Come back... Please... falling apart..._

The tugs soon turned to nails after that. Not digging into his flesh or causing much pain at all, but as if someone were desperately trying to grab onto his shoulders or arms. So much that Emmanuel almost asked if Daphne could turn the car around, but she already did so much for him that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

Eventually, the pull slackened. It slackened as Emmanuel laid in the guest bed of Daphne’s house. Despite the discomfort it brought and the difficultly to show his gratitude with it, he almost immediately wished for it back. Now, without it and without understanding why, he wanted to feel that again.

He laid all night, never feeling tired, wishing for the sensation to come back. In the end, he concluded that it was a design of his subconscious. That without his memories he lost the sense of purpose and belonging he once had. That the nagging and pulling were entirely the makings of his mind wishing to have his memories again.

As morning came, Emmanuel pushed all the thoughts away. Determined to make breakfast for Daphne in a show of gratitude and be as helpful as possible until she doesn’t have to support him any longer.

Even now, after months of that pulling last for days when he almost starts walking out the door to follow it or short bursts of desperate clawing that leave him panting, Emmanuel still can’t figure out what it is. He supposes he fits in now. He has a job. He will gladly heal anyone of their ills, going out to help and share his gift, and Daphne has never asked him to go either.

Discussing it, in half-truths, with Daphne gave him little comfort. She looked it up- though Emmanuel has been getting better with the internet- and told him what he’s feeling is hiraeth. A longing to go back to what he cannot return to. A home forever gone.

She smiled at him then, pulling him into an embrace. “Don’t be sad,” she said. “You have a home with me now.”

It was only after he pulled back and forced a grateful smile, that he realized the distinct urge to fidget and coldness came from the fact at how very wrong that entire idea is.

Which then causes guilt to creep up over him. Daphne helped him, saved him when he had nothing, and though she offers more than what he could ever deserve, he doesn’t want it. She offers all her love, all the warmth and comfort of her house, a place to forever belong. Only for him to continuously shy away from it.

Though he has a place here, an acceptance, and yet even with breaks from those pulls, he knows he doesn’t belong. This isn’t even where he wants to belong. Deep down, he wishes to be someplace else, to have the longing stop because he’s at his proper home. Even if the voice sometimes screams in the quiet recesses of his own head, or slurs in a drunken manner, or whispers in a quiet solemn manner, it always breaks down into sobbing before the voice ends and leaves him with just a pull.

It’s gotten to the point where Emmanuel will try to stop whatever he’s doing to hear the voice better. It always breaks up into pieces, sometimes ending with a disbelieving scoff that even results in the tugs to lessen. No matter what he does though, Emmanuel hasn’t figured out what the voice talks about.

He’s received anger, but he can’t tell if the clips of words come from an actual event or from the emotion. He’s heard the regret, but his own feelings of longing seem to suggest that the other did nothing wrong either. Did they get involved in an accident? Perhaps this voice was there when he lost his memories, or maybe couldn’t save him if he were intentional dumped into the river.

It's only more Emmanuel hasn’t told Daphne. More reasons for guilt to wrap and intertwine around him. His healing gift can be nothing short of miraculous, yet there’s instincts too. Instincts that no one else has. At first, he thought his talent with a knife led him to belief he was a chief, but it’s more than that. He hasn’t encounter anything too heavy for him to lift, and Emmanuel’s almost scared to find out. He’s stopped commenting about the fight scenes in movies, how inaccurate or the correct countering technique, when Daphne’s confused looks began to bother him.

Since even then, he was holding a lot of the comments back.

What he did before Daphne finding him, he may never know, but it certainly makes him believe that this type of living didn’t involve him. That the kindness Daphne gave him with no hesitation is only that much more prominent, and that much more painful when he can’t give what she wants in return.

 _You damn bastard!_ Emmanuel fumbles and drops the books he’s currently setting back on the shelves, the voice blaring clearer than he’s ever heard it before. _Why did you have to leave me? Bobby’s gone now too, and you had to-_

It chokes off, and Emmanuel’s heaving. Gripping onto the bookshelf and pleading for the voice’s clarity to come back. To have whoever or whatever the voice comes from and reassure them. That he’s not gone. He didn’t willingly leave. To do or say anything for this voice because deep down he knows he _will_ do _anything_ for it.

 _Figures._ The voice sobers up, detached yet instinctively Emmanuel knows that it seethes with a certain kind of hate. _Only a few years with me and I ruined you. Poisoned and killed you like everything else._

“No. Please, no.” Digging his fingers into his hair, trying to coax the voice back to him because he can hear the goodbye coming and it can’t- it just can’t happen and he doesn’t know why but it just can’t!

 _Maybe one day... would've..._ The voice starts to break up, but the pulling tightens. If Emmanuel didn’t know that, physically, nothing exists, then he would have thought something’s trying to suffocate him.

_...gone..._

“Emmanuel? Yo-”

In a flash, Emmanuel whirls around and his entire body shudders in the attempt not to incapacitate Amanda. He’s on edge, he knows it, Amanda’s speaking to him, he knows that, but he doesn’t care. The voice leaves again no matter how hard he focuses and the longing, both his and the voice’s, cries out throughout his being that he shouldn't be here.

Yet, despite that pain, he cherishes the longing. Out of everything, he knows that it is his. Something that wholly belongs to him instead of this peaceful life Daphne has given him.

“Do you need to take the rest of the day off?” Amanda’s concern gently pulls him back into his surroundings. “You look really out of it.”

The smile he tries to give her comes out so wrong and strained that she winces, and Emmanuel drops it. “Headache. If you don’t mind, I’ll clean up and then head out.”

She smiles, all warm and caringly, and a small part of Emmanuel can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t want this. “Of course, I’ll sign you out and call Daphne-”

“Ah, yes.” He nods before bending down to the books. “If you could tell her I’m walking home, I’d appreciate it.”

Home. He’s been saying it for a while now in reference to Daphne’s house, and it still makes him want to curl up a little at the feel of it leaving his mouth.

“Are you sure you should be walking? I’m sure it’s no trouble for her to come and pick you up.”

“No no, I’m fine. A little fresh air will do me some good. Thank you for your concern though.” Unsure if she can see the hesitancy on his face, Emmanuel begins to put the books in their places.

She hums, not quite convinced, but enough. “Alright then, just holler when you leave.”

Emmanuel nods, knowing it’s rude not to turn to her, but not wanting to face her. Perhaps she’ll see it. The growing reluctance to return to Daphne and the guilt from that. From knowing how much she’s done for him and Emmanuel finding it harder and harder to be grateful.

It wasn’t always this hard, the only guilt he felt is when he almost walked out the front door to follow the pulling to wherever it may take him.

No, it only became this hard when a foreign tug and voice wafted through his mind almost a week ago. It wasn’t even much of a tug, more of a wisp of air brushing over his shoulder. Nothing like the grabbing and pulling the other longing does, how real and desperate it is compared to the breeze he felt from the foreign one.

Then he heard Daphne’s voice, almost completely lacking the same emotion he can sense from the voice.

_Please say yes..._

Hers broke off like the many times the other voice has. Yet hers never had that same urgency. Emmanuel supposes it’s because she doesn’t think him gone, but it’s more than that. It carries less weight, importance. As if a cute animal asks to be petted and you indulge it for that moment. Important for the moment and glad to do it, yet not anything like feeling the urge to move mountains if the voice asked him to.

Later, feeling hordes of guilt settling upon him, he snooped through her room. He knows that’s where she was when he heard her and maybe figuring out what happened to cause him to hear her can help why he has the ability in the first place. Another gift perhaps? To know when someone needs him? It would correlate well with the ability to heal, so he can help as soon as possible.

“Goodbye Amanda!” The door chimes as opens it, waving at her before shutting it behind him. His guilt and worry only growing at the fact he only has this job because Amanda is Daphne’s friend.

The memory of it storms his mind as he walks away, enough where he almost fumbles forward, opening her nightstand and finding that small cube of black velvet. He doesn’t remember breathing, maybe his heart even stopped, when he shut the drawer. Staring at it for ages, dimly acknowledging the shadows moving throughout the day, and vividly aware of the horror blooming throughout him. How every piece of him shouted and hollered _No! No! No!_ with such desperation that he almost mistook it as the voice.

He scarcely recognized himself with that desperation. His most vivid emotion so far. It almost scared him, how much this voice that doesn’t even have name means to him. Here he has this wonderful woman who plans to propose to him, to cement all the amazing gifts she gave him with sheer selflessness. To stay here and see the smiles he creates from either his healing gift or simply from the little acts he does.

If only he could feel it that way too.

Because it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. He looks at the road and even if the familiar longing doesn’t pull at him, he longs for what he can’t remember. He watches tv and thinks the good guys are being portrayed wrong. It isn’t cool and showy. It’s violent and hard and Emmanuel wishes he could go and end that. Stop the pain.

The pain of what, he still can’t figure out. Yet even then, even if he can’t stop that pain, he’d rather be in it than be here.

It’s not as if he doesn’t care for Daphne, he truly does, but he can’t give her what she wants. Which is awful, considering how much she’s done for him, but Emmanuel doesn’t want that next step, that change in their relationship. He’ll support her in whatever else, but not that. It’d be wrong for him, and to her as well if his feelings aren’t true.

He’s thought about avoiding her, but he shouldn’t. He thought about bringing it up and telling her no as to spare her the rejection during her proposal, but that would mean admitting he was snooping and he still feels guilty for not being able to say yes. So, Emmanuel only tries to look melancholy or act tired or whatever he can to not inspire her ask in the first place.

Which slightly increases his guilt, but other than leaving to go chase a pull that he’s sure would be dubbed as insane, it’s the best he can come up with.

Hopefully, he isn’t actually insane. That this truly isn’t the broken remains of his memories warping and twisting in ways that leaves him unable to live in the present. If it is, he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Not when Daphne gave him everything, still gives him so much, only for Emmanuel to turn away to chase a phantom.

Maybe he’ll take a nap when he arrives at Daphne’s. She’s working from home today, though the diocese usually needs her to come in or travel to different parishes for their bookkeeping. He doesn’t want to pull her from her work, he doesn’t want her to worry about him after everything he knows and is intentionally doing, and immediately taking a nap seems to be the best strategy.

Which, even with what he’s been feeling, hasn’t been hard. The first few nights, especially with the tugs and voice at its most crazed desperation and drunkenness, he couldn’t sleep. He functioned well without it, so Daphne never knew. It later supported the idea this wasn’t how he lived before Daphne. That his body is used to not being able to sleep.

However, he figured out a way to simply shut down. It didn’t feel like sleep, or at least how Daphne describes it, since he never dreams. He also still feels aware of his surroundings. Like all his senses have dimmed, and he feels empty. Adrift in nothingness. Everything stopping until he wants to wake up.

He lies to Daphne about that too. She thinks it’s the type of sleep that only feels like five seconds, when he’d say feels about a third of the time that passes. More lies, more evidence that he doesn’t belong here, more proof that what she’s given is that much more important and still he refuses it.

From everything he can think of, his life from before was not a happy one. There should be no reason to feel such a craving to go back, to always feel as if he doesn’t belong here. Maybe he should feel a bit bad for the people who knew before, especially for the voice if it truly is a person, but not on this level. He should be feeling more gratitude for Daphne rather than a persistently growing discomfort.

Sighing, Emmanuel walks onto her property and slips through the door silently. Wondering through the hallways, he does go to her office despite wanting to hide away in the guest bedroom already.

Rapping softly on wood, he opens the door about halfway when he hears that squeaky desk chair of hers spin towards him. “Hey, just got back. Think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Oh, do you-” She begins to rise immediately, worry creasing on her forehead and pulling at her lips.

“No, it’s only headache.” Emmanuel gives her a small smile and gestures for her to stop. “I’ll drink some water and sleep it off.”

She sits, but none of the worry leaves her face. “Are you sure? I can go grab some Advil if you need it.”

“Thank you, but I’m good, really. Hey,” Emmanuel widens his smile for her. “I’ll even make dinner tonight. Invite Amanda over, as a thank you for letting me off early.”

Her shoulders relax, a smile beginning to overtake her concern. “Alright, but it’s no big deal if you don’t feel up to cook when you wake. Okay?”

It breaks part of him to see how much she still cares; how big and selfless her heart is even when Emmanuel plans to deny her the love she wants. Regardless, he nods and smiles, softly shutting the door behind him.

He needs to decide, he needs to do something. Tell Daphne, and he’s sure she’ll help. It hurts to ask more of her, but perhaps therapy can help him move on. If he doesn’t take that step, he will drive himself insane with the shattered remains of his past constantly digging at him.

Letting himself collapse on the bed, he’s suddenly grateful for his ability to simply sleep on demand. If he didn’t have that, he surely would’ve stayed up for a long time with the horrified pit that always comes up whenever he thinks about trying to move on.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sad, isn’t it?” Daphne walks up behind him, resting her head on his shoulder and looking at the news as well. “The greed alone. And people wonder why self-esteem in the country is so low when a sugar company is rising to the top.”

Emmanuel hums his agreement, fighting the urge to tense up as she raises her hand to stroke up his arm. He’s managed to avoid her proposal, but it’s been so long, and Daphne only gets closer and closer. Will she ask soon? It’s been almost six weeks since he found the box. Maybe she’s been waiting for the right moment, moments which Emmanuel has been incredibly careful to avoid in order to avoid hurting her.

Like now.

He turns to her with a small smile before moving towards the tv cabinets. “Then may I suggest we watch a movie? Someone at the library recommended this and-” Plucking _Cowboys vs. Aliens_ from the shelf and spinning to show Daphne- “I’ve wanted to watch it since I noticed it.”

Which, again, is a little white lie that funnels into the big scheme working relentlessly in his head. It almost scares, how easily he can break apart situations. Determine the constants and variables and choose which ones to influence in order to produce his desired outcome. Factoring in Daphne’s personality, alibis, his own ability to lie (which, again, scares him at how good he is at it), and even current events to avoid any romantic setting.

No one at the library recommended it but thinking about it brings the same longing as looking at the road. The same sort of pull that comes from him rather than the voice. A voice he only hears in drunken slurs now, and still broken up in a way where he can never figure out what it means. It’s worse without the voice, only feeling claws and arms and yanks trying to get him to go to something he doesn’t understand.

So now he’s caving into his desire of watching the movie because it strikes a note of familiarity that he never understands. He doesn’t want to particularly want to watch it with Daphne, but he enjoys her presence. He used to enjoy it more when he wasn’t constantly trying to manipulate the situation and his friend.

She smiles, a little tired expression, and nods. “I’ll go make some popcorn.”

He smiles wider in return and nods back. Daphne seems a little disappointed, which also factors into the big scheme in his head, and so he needs to figure something out to brighten her day. Emmanuel doesn’t want her to feel sad, he wants her to think of him as a friend. He would do anything for her, anything to even begin to repay her for her everlasting kindness, but he simply cannot even think about pledging himself to her with experiencing that same horror that comes at the thought of leaving the voice behind.

That leaves the option of admitting what he knows and how he feels. He could even find a reason as to how he found that little black box rather than hearing her voice in his head. Reject her proposal before she builds up the excitement and courage within her. Maybe that would be easy, perhaps that would be the best path.

Yet there’s the fear. The fear she will shut him out. He understands if she didn’t want him to live here anymore, that’s acceptable. But if she were to try to distant herself as far away as possible? He couldn’t handle that. She’s his best friend. She’s soft and caring and has a quiet sort of laugh that tugs out a smile in him and Emmanuel can't imagine not having that anymore.

Sighing, Emmanuel sits on the couch and begins to fiddle with the remotes. He often doesn’t understand most jokes, or references, or normal behavior at all despite having such intuitive knowledge on how to fight. And yet, he knows that most people want nothing to do with the object that caused them pain. Something whispering its warning not to cause any pain, no matter the intention or the heartbreak it may later cause by not doing anything, because it will fall apart and leave him stranded.

Whoever he was beforehand, he’s becoming increasingly concerned that it may ruin him without him ever remembering it.

The previews begin to play, Emmanuel turning down the volume as his thoughts grow louder. Since that also messes with his plan with Daphne. Perhaps he really is turning down the greatest and kindest person he has ever met because of past instincts that never knew such kindness.

Distantly- the part of him that is always aware of his surroundings- he hears the popcorn stop popping. Trying to shove those thoughts aside, he skips to the main menu and tells himself to relax and enjoy the movie with his friend. Movie night, those are supposed to be nice.

Daphne smiles at him as she sits, all soft with caring eyes, and Emmanuel knows that he really isn’t going to relax.

It’s during the middle of the movie when it happens.

Emmanuel’s even enjoying it much more than he first thought. The missing memory of the main character, a past that refuses to stay in the past, gives him some comfort. That he can’t be alone in struggling to overcome and separate himself from events he is unaware of.

The cocky son, believing himself to be entitled to his wishes due to his position of power from his father, grinds him in a way he didn’t think possible and gives him loads of dark satisfaction when the others refuse to bend to his will. Those rough and sharp characters have him smiling, and their foolhardy recklessness as him chuckling softly.

For one of the first times he can remember, the fierce longing to be somewhere else, fades.

And that’s exactly when everything gets ruined.

He notices Daphne swallowing a bit more than normal, licking her lips every few minutes as well. Emmanuel spends a moment thinking about it. Knowing Daphne, she probably got thirsty from the popcorn but doesn’t want to stop the movie, especially when he’s been enjoying it. Since she seemed a little disappointed earlier with the choice of movie, now would be a good time to do something for her.

Pausing the movie without a word, Emmanuel smiles at her confused frown before getting up and grabbing her a water bottle from the fridge. He thought about pouring her a glass of water, or even the occasional glass of wine she’s so fond of, but he doesn’t want her to sit there in confusion.

He may have also wanted to get back to the movie as soon as possible.

“Here,” He hands it over as he sits. “You looked pretty thirsty.”

She smiles at him, and Emmanuel doesn’t press play fast enough before she uses both hands to take the water bottle from him. It is a social cue even he couldn’t feign ignorance at the silent demand for attention.

No, he couldn’t feign ignorance when he glances over at her and catches the seriousness in her eyes. When one hand grabs the water bottle and leaves it on the couch as the other slides up his wrist and gently grips his arm. When she’s turning fully towards him, knees grazing against his leg. When she grabs his other arm and brings them both together. When she holds both of his hands now, her fingers curling into his like all those couples he’s seen when they’re about to say something with a serious impact.

“Emmanuel,” She practically whispers it in the quiet of the room. Yet it’s so loud. His heart pounds loud, faster and faster as if shouting warnings from his chest. So many thoughts shout at him that they’re the most important. That he needs to act on this thought in order to escape this.

He needs to stop this. How? He can’t figure it out. He can’t tense up. He can’t look away. He could try to lie and use words to leave this situation. Yet there's nothing could he possibly say to lighten the air when he isn’t supposed to know what she’s doing. He might be able to feign and act his way out. Which can backfire worse since he’s been acting fine all night.

At his silence, Daphne takes a deep breath and continues despite the horror racing through Emmanuel that’s begging her to stop. “It’s been almost six months since God placed me on the path that led me to you.”

“Daphne...” The word breaks loose from the whirlwind of thoughts and half-formed strategies, tumbling from his lips quietly and unsure.

“I know you haven’t found your faith yet, but it must be His work. This must be a gift.” His gut tightens, as it usually does when she speaks of God, but the bitter taste in the back of his throat never comes as the muscles there tighten. She’s giving him such a fond look and it’s wrong, but he doesn’t know why. This just needs to stop!

“Or perhaps I’m being selfish,” She leans forward, and Emmanuel fights he temptation to lean back. “God granted you the ability perform miracles and here I am wanting to keep that all to myself.”

_No!_

The thought streaks madly across his head. Every part of him rejects the words, and while normally he would feel a bit guilty about that, he can’t stop it. His stomach clenches and curls in onto itself. His heart won’t slow down, won’t calm down, and his lungs tremble with the urge to thrash and breathe.

“Daphne.” He swallows, the tight discipling he usually always has over his body crumbling and wavering in a panic that he can’t even begin to soothe. “What are you saying?”

It needs to be clear. Maybe he’s overacting and she only wants to emphasize how great of a friend she thinks he is. Maybe she noticed him trying to find a place where he could move away from her and was going to offer to let him stay longer. He was planning to bring it up once he had it finalized. As a thank you for letting him stay here for such a long time and a promise to stay good friends. Maybe Emmanuel’s fears are projecting onto the situation and creating a problem that doesn’t even exist.

Her smile grows, her fingers tightening within his. “This is typically done with a ring, I think you’re unique enough that you won’t mind, but-”

The longing for something, someone that he doesn’t even know rips at his core. Her words painfully pluck such a familiar memory he can almost grab it. Feel a hand on his shoulder, heavy and big and reassuring, before it’s gone. Leaving him scrambling for purchase within a mind he can’t even trust, within a body where panic is seizing control over him.

“-will you marry me?”

Without a thought, all his thoughts dying and screaming as agonized horror pulses through him, he rips his hands away from her. His heart thumping wildly to move, to get out, to escape. His legs want to flee, but too much energy, too much. He only staggers back, unable to control the shaking of his muscles before collapsing down.

His head wails within an inferno of emotion and begging. His body curls up, the foreign longing and tugging choosing this moment to come back and he screams. He screams for someone he doesn’t know. He screams at his shattered past digging its nails into his flesh and refusing to let him go. He screams at Daphne for wanting to pledge herself to him when he’s clearly broken in ways he can’t even conceive.

“Emmanuel!” Daphne shakes his shoulders, and he thrashes his head side to side. “Emmanuel! Talk to me! What’s happening?”

“I can’t!” It breaks from him with no regards to all the careful planning he’s spent so long fine tuning. “I don’t know why, but it hurts. Even thinking about it hurts and I can’t accept- I don’t understand. I’m so sorry, I don’t why I can’t. It just hurts and I just can’t!”

The words dissolve into sobbing. And even in his disastrous state he knows it’s not for Daphne. A yearning pit stretching and coiling with the other’s longing. An emptiness he desires to be filled, he wants to cherish and adore whatever it is that’s supposed to go in that gaping pit. He doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t let go of it.

A hand soothing down his back startles him back into his body. Where the pit transfers into ache within his chest. His lungs stagger when he forces them to inhale, trying to expand them as much as possible to push out that feeling, but it only tightens within him. It won’t go and he can’t, he won’t, move on from it.

He looks up at Daphne, blinking heavily and feeling the tears cascade from eyes. She’s only looking down at him in concern, perhaps a touch of confusion, and a fresh wave of sobs tumble out. The answer simply pops up as if he’s known all along and didn’t want to give it a name, and he can’t face Daphne in the eye, so he whispers it to the carpet instead.

“I’m grieving.” His hands fall from his head and curl up at his chest, as if to grab onto the ache within. “I don’t know their name. I don’t know if they died in the accident that cost me my memories.”

The foreign, but now familiar longing almost seems to comfort him this time, and he shakes his head. “No, they’re alive. I know that.” He sighs, closing his eyes as his confession pries the tension out of his body. “I know they’re out there somewhere on the road.

“I know pie’s their favorite food because I can’t stand to look at it. I know they have a classic car because my chest burns whenever I see one. I know westerns are their favorite because of the ease and peace they give me.

“I know they lost someone dear to them because whenever I see a mother and her son, I feel a sudden need to comfort even if I’m alone. I know they’re a type of investigator because of the familiarity I have when we watch those cop shows. I know they often get dirty and bloody because even with my gift I feel helpless and yet want to gently clean them up.

“I know,” Emmanuel breathes. “That I simply can’t let them go.”

With his eyes slipping shut, he slumps against Daphne. His throat dry of anymore words despite there being so much more to say. He feels drained in a way that not even days of no sleep did to him. All the effort spent trying to maneuver around Daphne and ignore what the voice means no longer needed. In a way, those two tasks gave him something to constantly do and having that gone lets his exhaustion catch up to him.

Gently, Daphne begins to thread her fingers through his hair. He supposes that his back will eventually hurt from the aggressive curve he’s in. His legs may cramp in the awkward, tangled position they’re in. With his healing gift though, he never feels physical pain. He only feels the creeping unease from accepting Daphne’s care after he rejected her.

“Daphne-”

“Shh, it’s okay. I know, I know.” She delicately presses against his head to try and keep him in her lap, but he pushes up to look at her. Only seeing her sad eyes lock onto his.

With a tender smile, she runs her fingers through his hair again. “I know you’re in love with her.”

Emmanuel blinks.

Blinks again.

Daphne still looks solemn, lacking all the cues that he has learned to associate with her humor. She isn’t joking. She isn’t kidding. She’s being serious. Stating a fact of grave importance by the looks of it.

“No,” Emmanuel pulls back and sits up. “This can’t be love. This isn’t-”

She halts him with a gentle touch on the shoulder. “And why can’t it be?”

He only blinks at her, opening his mouth and hesitantly pulling it shut. For only having half a year of concrete memories, Emmanuel can’t claim to be an expert on what love is and isn’t. From the snippets he’s gathered, it seems like a commitment of happiness. Like all commitments, it takes some work and, while there may be an initial draw, must be a choice. Whether that’s a hobby, work, an idea, or even another human being.

“Emmanuel,” Daphne’s face falls a bit, but then she sets her shoulders and continues. “What do you feel for me? When you think of me?”

He tilts his head, frowning but answering regardless. “I feel happy, grateful. I know I can never return the kindness you gave to me, but I want to be there whenever you need me.” He hesitates, but Daphne gestures for him to go on. “I enjoy talking to you, and watching movies with you, and hiking before it got too cold. It’s nice, but I need space. I think you deserve all the happiness life can give and I’d do so much for you, but I can’t say I wish for you when your gone or want to vow to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Lowering his eyes, he watches his hands cupping together. “I’m sorry I can’t give that to you.”

“Don’t apologize for how you feel, I’m glad you told me.” Daphne reaches for his face, lifting his eyes back towards hers. A bit of the guilt in him eases off when he sees that while still lingering in disappointment, her eyes seem a lot lighter than before. “I wouldn’t have been happy if you weren’t. I’ll be glad to be your best friend.”

Emmanuel starts to smile at that. Muscles not so limp or clamped as his shoulders relax-

“Now, you may care a lot for me. Perhaps even a platonic love, but it barely compares to what you feel for her.” Daphne’s hand falls from his face. “Does it?”

He recoils slightly, mouth springing open to object. That this person that he doesn’t know, this voice that doesn’t have a face, can’t mean more to him than Daphne. Perhaps he can’t marry her because of them, maybe it wouldn’t feel right marrying her regardless, but his feelings towards them can’t be that massive towards them.

Then he gradually shuts his mouth. He spent, still does spend a lot of time wishing for the voice to come back. Even if everything about this person only hurts, he wants it all the same because the thought of nothing makes him tense up despite being helpless against it. The longing from this other person hovers in the background, not as intense as it can get, but comforting as it seems to tug at his arm in a silent plea to come.

To come.

To go back.

The voice wants him to go back. To return. And he wants to. Despite all the pain and misery that seems to have come from his past life, the pain that he still feels from the voice. Emmanuel wants to go. Despite all logical sense, he would leave his job, the community, and even Daphne if he could find this voice. He knows, without even a rational verification, he would throw this peaceful, calm life away for this voice.

He should have already known this. He’s been thinking about, thinking about what he would do if he could meet the voice. How he would cherish them as their presence fills the dullness in his chest and soothes the aches in his being. Yet it seems to take him by surprise. The air sucked out of his lungs by the revelation as his eyes widen at nothing and everything.

Since suddenly, love seems like a word of infinite proportions. Indefinable. Immense beyond measure. A tiny word people throw at a bunch of meaningless objects or hide behind to avoid saying the truth, when it is the gateway to so much more.

He doesn’t even know this person. He doesn’t know their face. He doesn’t how they dress or how they act. He doesn’t know if they have family. He doesn’t know where they live. He doesn’t know about their major accomplishments or tragic losses.

For all the things he said earlier, he may be wrong. He feels certain about what he said, but he has no way to verify. Maybe he can’t stand the sight of pie because he had a family member choke and die on pie when he was young? Maybe he was the investigator beforehand? He doesn’t know anything concrete about the voice. Even hearing their voice, it’s so quiet and wispy that Emmanuel can’t even identify the gender.

Yet he wants. He wants so badly that the thought of moving on horrifies him. He stressed out what to do about Daphne because he already felt committed to the voice. The mere thought of being married to her aches so profoundly not simply because he thinks he would be cheating on another person, but because he mourns for the opportunity to be bound to someone else.

“This…” Emmanuel swallows. “This is love?”

“Not the good side.” Daphne lightly shrugs, pity suddenly marring her features. “You seem heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken?” Emmanuel reaches up to rub at his chest. It’s an apt name if Daphne’s correct. He knows he cannot be physically injured, and yet it feels as if he is. A broken heart that somehow still beats.

“You lost your love. Even if you know their alive, you’re missing them. It’s must be much worse not knowing them since you can never be sure if you’ll find them again. You don’t remember who you love, you can’t have her, but long for her regardless.” Daphne’s eyes now shine with remorse on his behalf as she rests a hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I didn’t know, I would have never asked otherwise.”

Emmanuel nods, trying to force his lips to smile and reassure her. “I know, don’t worry. You’re completely forgiven. You’d never intentionally cause pain.”

A small sigh of relief slips out of her, and she squeezes his knee before retracting her hand. “I think we should call it a night. You look exhausted.”

Though Emmanuel has never felt the physical need to sleep, he nods immediately. Daphne stands and turns off the movie. For a blank moment, it seems amazing how she can move around so effortlessly. Emmanuel’s body seems distant almost, a faint buzzing and movement beyond his sense. His bones stiff and bloated, a pressure within them trying to press out, and his arms extending out of his back rather than his shoulders.

Yet that only lasts a moment before he pulls himself together. His body may not need the sleep, but his mind certainly does if his perception is becoming so dazed. Neither spine nor knees ache about the position he kept them in. He almost wishes they would ache though, a distraction from the emotions that always receive his attention.

Daphne’s already moving into the kitchen with the popcorn bowl as Emmanuel stands there. Now that everything’s been admitted, to himself if not to Daphne as well, it feels he must have been oblivious beforehand. He’s standing there, wanting to go back to the guest room and think and sleep about these new revelations, but not.

He’s not moving for the mere fact he doesn’t want to be left alone in the guest room to think and sleep about how he wants to be with someone but can’t. How he longs for their specific presence, more so as their longing begins to fade into a soft press as they either sleep or their focus moving elsewhere, but Emmanuel is alone instead.

His mind speculates before he has the common sense to stop himself. He wonders if they cuddle. For all Emmanuel knows, they could be married. That before the accident, they would go to sleep together and never be alone. They probably know about how he never truly feels the same pressing need to sleep as others do, because Emmanuel thinks he would want to hold them for as long as possible and they would probably learn one way or the other of how little he needs to sleep.

Maybe they haven’t ever slept together. Emmanuel knows nothing of their relationship beforehand. Hopefully, they will want to. He finds the small touches and hugs from Daphne pleasant. He can only imagine that holding his beloved will be gratifying beyond measure.

Before his daydream carries him any further, he begins to move. Tightening his jaw at the explosive burst of pain in his chest when his fantasy dissolves back into harsh reality. He won’t hold his love because he doesn’t have them, and because he can’t even remember them, he may never hold them.

Perhaps he will forever be alone.

He pauses at the kitchen, only thinking about what he wants to say for a few seconds before blurting it at Daphne’s back. Hands clenching in sudden need to know the answer.

“Is it worth this?”

Daphne lifts her head up. She’s silent for a long moment, water rushing onto the popcorn and into the sink before she eventually shuts it off. Even when she turns to him and takes a moment to send him a small smile, it takes too long. Too long as he waits while trying to ignore the fact the longing from the voice is gone.

“It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” Though the concern never quite leaves, her face becomes more serious. “Love, in all of its beautiful and agonizing forms, is what truly separates humans from every other animal on Earth. It is always worth it to care about other human beings.”

Emmanuel nods, though the message can’t quite sink past the itchiness on his skin. He mutters a goodnight before retiring to his room. He almost regrets this night, forced to acknowledge and unfold the emotions that he was actively planning on how to avoid them. Now he has nothing to plan with only a pain that can’t be healed.

He doesn’t bother with changing. Entering his room and letting gravity tip him towards the mattress, Emmanuel never feels the blankets before he forces his mind into the oblivion of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Bidding goodbye to the little girl and her father, Emmanuel puts their returned books away. The father, or perhaps the mother, is religious guessing on his returns. Unless, of course, the little girl is searching for faith while reading about the Rainbow Magic fairies.

Perhaps he should check out a book for Daphne. While it was rough for the first few weeks, Daphne adjusting her way of thinking towards Emmanuel while Emmanuel struggled to function as he knows who the ever-persistent longing belongs what they mean to him, but they’ve found a new sort of rhythm.

At first, Daphne didn’t know how to act, until he asked her to keep touching him in passes. That led to a long, but important talk on how they should act around each other in regard to the other’s feelings. They simply decided that they should spend most nights apart as to leave the other space. Thankfully, she agreed not to be so reserved about her touches, although dialed back from when she was more infatuated with him.

Nodding to himself, he set one of the books on top of the cart as to remind himself. The voice came last night, the longing rippling and clawing for him, in anguish. It’s one of the clearest times he could hear them, though the words no less choppy than any of the other times, pleading on behalf of a ‘Sam’. Who, from what Emmanuel could gather, has received a grave injury.

Emmanuel ended up forcing himself unconscious before the clock struck seven, and Daphne expressed many concerns about him going to work today. Though the longing is still exceptionally strong compared to normal- it faded greatly so, hopefully, this Sam is recovering- Emmanuel needs to focus on something other than his own ache that intensified in response to the voice.

Now that he can think about it without wanting to collapse, last night helps confirm his speculation that the voice knows about his ‘gifts’. Gifts in which he’s been finding more about. More people are learning about his healing gift, and, though he will help anyone who comes to him, he hopes only those who are desperate consider him. He doesn’t want to attract people with nefarious purposes into Daphne’s life.

And while his healing gift remains to be the most extraordinary of his abilities, it isn’t the strangest. He plans on telling Daphne how he heard her that one time, once he finds the words, but can’t find a definition as to what’s happening. Emmanuel feels it, vividly from the voice, but that doesn’t mean it makes sense.

He did inform Daphne about his strength. Happily, so she didn’t have to pay a team of people to remove the tree in her backyard. He also came clean about his fighting instincts and how he’s always aware of everything around him even if he’s not actively thinking about it. All she said was that she’s glad she’s found him.

Though they certainly had a rough patch, Emmanuel’s gratitude towards her somehow grew over the past few weeks.

“Hey Emmanuel,” Amanda slips behind the counter with him. He hums back her, not necessarily moving away from the computer as he requests for certain books from other libraries. She is, after all, his boss.

His boss that has decided, with the library currently empty, to talk. “Say, is Daphne having family over? I know I invited you both so I could test my new recipe on you, but that doesn’t have to be tonight.”

Emmanuel pauses briefly, frowning as he continues to work. “No, she hasn’t told me any family has come over.”

“Really?” A note of surprise, along with the other computer starting up, fills the air. “I was just talking to Joyce and she said she saw someone coming in awhile ago.”

“And it’s not someone in need?” Even as he asks, his mind instantly detaching from his work, he knows the answer. It’s her day off, so if someone came needing his help, then Daphne calls Amanda and she either brings them here or comes picks up Emmanuel if it’s bad.

Amanda clearly has started the same train of thought as well, a hint of worry and hesitation creeping into her voice. “No… No, I haven’t gotten anything.”

“Well, she easily engages in conversation with certain people. She’s probably talking to them.” Emmanuel tries to sweep the worry clouding his mind and return to work, especially when Amanda nods in agreement.

Until a sudden flare of panic, not the voice’s and not his, spikes through him. His head whips, eyes widening at nothing when Daphne’s voice blares through his head. Terrifyingly clear and full of fear.

_Don’t hurt me! Don't hurt us!_

There’s more, grabbling and breaking up with pleas to the Lord and whimpering for the person to leave. It’s enough, way more than enough for Emmanuel to begin streaking towards the door. Hasting speaking as his mind narrows to a single point.

“I better go make sure everything’s fine. I got bad feeling. Be back soon.”

Then he opens the door and breaks out into a run. Amanda’s shout lost to him as strength rages and burns into his body. Cars pass him much slower than normal, everything blurring except for each point where he must turn. The trees blur, the sidewalk almost seems to move backwards to help propel him along.

The only thing he keeps track of what he’s passing, running through how much time it should take him to get back. He breaks down everything in the front of the house that can be used as a weapon or as a shield.

There’s a mirror on the wall. A bit big than what he would prefer, but it’ll act as his shield until he as an opening to hit over their head. Either they get knocked out, or Emmanuel grabs a shard as his weapon while they recover. Hopefully having enough time to advance before they’ve completely composed themselves again.

Though he has no memory of ever having the skill, he knows that if there’s a second person using Daphne as a hostage then he can easily throw a shard and have it pierce through their eye sockets and into their brain. Once one of them dies, there should be a moment of hesitation or the others may flee. If they don’t flee, their moment of hesitation will be enough for Emmanuel to take down another one.

Emmanuel sprints impossibly faster when he sees the open door, the glass in the door cracked. There’s a body already on the ground, and Emmanuel almost fumbles when he sees the soot and black ash stained all over his eyes and face. Are there two groups here for him? Is it just for his gift or do they know him from his past life?

Either way, they will pay for involving Daphne in this.

“DAPHNE!” Forgoing the element of surprise, the door rattles as he bursts through it. He’s already reaching out to grab the mirror-

“I’m fine!” The relief in her voice convinces him instantly, too shaky with adrenaline but sounding as if the tension from beforehand is flooding out of her from her words alone.

He races into the living room just as another man finishes untying her. The part of his mind always aware of everything around him notices the longing vanish completely and the stranger’s staring at him with eyes a bit too wide than what the situation calls for.

But that’s not important. Daphne’s rushing towards him as he hurries to wrap her up in a hug. She muffles her cries and sobs into his sweater and grabs onto him. Emmanuel closes his eyes, breathing her in now safe and sound and he doesn’t plan on letting her go until the panic and worry crumble away.

He needs to thank this stranger, but his relief is simply too strong right now. Daphne’s safe and he absolutely needs to talk to her about how he heard her. Once they figure it out, together, then she’ll be able to call for him whenever she’s in danger. While a stranger came to her rescue this time, Emmanuel won’t let them take anymore chances.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” She doesn’t sound okay, and while Emmanuel doesn’t relinquish his hold on her, she pulls back enough to rest her hand on his jaw. “But, Emmanuel, they were looking for you.”

Sighing and letting his eyes close again, Emmanuel caves into the comfort of physical touch and brings their foreheads together. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out.” Lifting his head, he too reaches out and cups her jaw.

Usually he asks first, though no one ever mentions being uncomfortable or claiming he invaded them in some way, but he’s too desperate to make sure she’s okay beyond what his eyes can see that he pushes stronger than he uses does. Grabbing onto that energy and flooding Daphne with it.

Though it’s more than what he wanted, and now that he focuses on it, the energy buzzes and thrashes and more elated than ever before. It swells in him as he boosts Daphne’s systems while finding no harm within him. As he comes back to himself, the energy doesn’t want to calm down, but he forces it down regardless.

“Emmanuel? Your eyes, they just glowed…”

He shakes his head, not sure what even happened himself, and tries to regulate his breathing. “I’m okay, just overwhelmed and desperate. I’m sorry for not asking, I had to make sure you were okay.”

Pulling away, Emmanuel decides that he needs to address the stranger still staring from the chair. Daphne is safe, and they can talk about this later when it’s calmer. For now- especially if his eyes did glow- he needs to speak with them before he does something rash.

“Thank you for protecting Daphne from that- that thing.” Emmanuel walks up to the stranger, his chest and even his healing energy tightening and contorting when he meets his eyes. His skin seems to heat up, fire stretching and burning to escape from him and yet it doesn’t hurt.

The stranger clears his throat, and Emmanuel uses it to recompose himself from the bizarre reaction. “Uh, demon…” The stranger face stiffens, unsure and frowning slightly. “You didn’t know that was a demon?”

“A… demon walked the Earth.” He glances at Daphne, finding her surprise there too. If that’s true, then she’s in much more danger-

Daphne rubs his shoulder, though he finds little comfort in that. “You saw the demon’s true face.” Turning towards the stranger, she continues. “Emmanuel has very special gifts.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that about… Emmanuel.” The man blinks as urges to reach out and touch the stranger pulse underneath Emmanuel’s skin and the logic trying to contain him. “That you can heal people up.”

He meets the stranger’s eyes again, logic crumbling against every painful throb of his heart. “I seem to be able to help to a certain degree.”

The man doesn’t say anything back, just staring back. Emmanuel may not be able to control his heart or even the healing energy writhing within him, but he manages to control his breathing and school his facial features.

“What’s your issue…” He tips his head because he wants to know the stranger’s name. A thin layer of worry informing him that his discipline over food and sleep seems to be better than his ability to resist a person he does not know.

“Dean. I’m Dean.” The stranger, Dean, shuffles. “And it’s, uh, it’s my brother.”

“Pleasure to meet you Dean,” He extends his hand, falling into the craving to touch him at least one. “I’ll do all that I can to help your brother.”

Dean said something, maybe a thank you, but Emmanuel’s senses white out as Dean reaches to shake his hand. The energy within him sings because he doesn’t just feel the skin of his hand. He feels a warmth that makes sunshine seem like a cold wind. For a single second, a golden light- a light of such brilliance that nothing could ever possibly compare- bursts from the man and shines upon Emmanuel’s lost memories.

_Glass shatters, sparks raining down as the barn doors crack and fly open without a touch revealing the Righteous Man within-_

He rips his hand away and, even plagued with tumult of sensations and experiences and emotions, he mourns the touch instantly.

_-he raises his wings, manifesting them in a flourish in front of Dean-_

They flutter, the limbs he never knew he had there and responding as he remembers flight. Remembers what it is to fly even when he staggers back on his legs.

_He raises his hand to the bloody sigils. Betraying his kind. Defying his orders. Letting Dean go. Yet it’s right, he sees Dean’s soul and he knows it’s right in ways he’s never known before. The Righteous Man is righteous for a reason._

_He will follow._

His fingers are stiff and small as he reaches for the couch. His grace moving and expanding and yearning before his mind can completely understand.

_It smells corrupt, the blood Crowley gives him. It’s wrong, but he must, or else Dean and the world will perish-_

Daphne’s behind him, talking and asking, but she doesn’t understand. He’s not even human, he tried to replace the God she worships.

_“I’m sorry Dean.”_

_He truly is. His plan failed, he didn’t have the strength and releasing the souls will destroy the last of it. He hopes Dean knows- though maybe he’s projecting that the sadness and shock on his face is genuine and doesn't mask fierce hate against him- that Dean knows everything was to avoid pain on him and Sam. He stopped Raphael. He used over ten thousand souls erasing the trauma from Sam. He cares for them, truly._

_The souls burst out and ravage his grace as he releases them back to Purgatory, feeling his life fading and withering for the third time._

He grabs his grace, the crippled and marred thing that it is, and absorbs it. His memories falling into place rather than attacking him. He stands, his wings- a shadow of their former glory- folding at his vessel’s back. He is an angel. He has been since the dawn of the Earth.

And he betrayed Dean. He was foolish and naïve and almost cost Dean everything. That’s not even mentioning the death he left in his wake. Thousands of angels murdered, and he doesn’t even know the amount of human, innocent human lives he took as well.

Oh, Dean must think him as a monster. He did try to have him killed. Rightly so. He’s no worse than Raphael or the other archangels. He had no remorse. It must be a miracle that he even thought of Sam and Dean long enough with the souls to wipe the trauma he unleashed upon Sam’s mind. Or maybe he failed, and that’s why Dean’s here.

He’ll go to Sam instantly. No matter how much it may hurt his damaged wings to fly. Since he still lives, if through the work of God or the sheer stubbornness that he developed with his free will, he will spend the rest of his life redeeming himself to Dean. He will personally tend to his and Sam’s Heavens and make sure they know the bliss of Paradise for all eternity.

No, the other angels would kill him instantly if he tried to enter Heaven. He left it, them. All those angels who have no understanding of free will. It must be chaos up there and it’s all his fault. He’ll never be let in; he’ll never be able to redeem himself to Heaven. And thus, he’ll never earn any forgiveness from Dean.

Unless...

“Emmanuel,” Daphne cradles his jaw with both hands, “Emman-”

Grabbing her shoulders, he moves her aside as he makes up his mind. His grace begins to stir with his decision, spilling out of his eyes as he approaches Dean. He sees Dean’s surprise, hears the _Cas_ his lips form silently as his mind whispers it to him, as the Righteous Man starts to reach out.

Falling on his vessel’s knees, a vessel he could never leave with his tarnished grace, he grabs Dean’s arm with both his hands. “Dean… Dean, I’m so sorry.”

His grace unfurls before him, and before Dean can form a response, his wings manifest. Lowered and curling around Dean’s feet. The lights flicker, the tv buzzing with static. A static drowned out as his grace sings softly and opens in front of Dean’s soul.

“I know I betrayed you in ways that I could never hope to repair.” His fingers tighten over his arm, silent desperation. “I can never ask you for forgiveness after the egregious transgressions I committed, but please, let me redeem myself.”

Tendrils of his grace brush over his soul, enough for Dean to understand what he’s doing. If he thought the angels wouldn’t ever accept him now, they will forever be thoroughly disgusted at him for pledging himself to a mere soul. Letting a human rewrite his angelic coding, letting a hairless ape mess with the divine.

And yet, only bliss and adoration floods him as Dean’s soul reacts almost immediately. The glorious touch of his soul washing over his grace makes the archangel’s grace seem like insignificant bundle of Christmas lights.

Maybe this is what the touch of God is like.

No, no this is better than the touch of God. This is real. This someone he can count on and that will forever be better than God.

“Cas,” Dean kneels next to him, dragging him into a hug as his grace sings with his new name. Embedding it into the foundation of his being. “You dumbass, you don’t need to ask for forgiveness.”

His soul threads through his wings, the feathers there burning and then growing under his soul’s direction. Though crippled and unable to fly the long distances they used to, Dean burns away the hawk shaped limbs completely. In their stead, sparrow wings flourish and spread. Small, but even faster than his old ones and completely healed as he snaps them around Dean.

“You already had it.”

His grace blooms, still angelic but all connections from Heaven snipped as Dean’s soul retreats. His rewritten code rushing to transform him. Lights bursting as he undergoes a metamorphosis unheard of since God first invented souls and bestowed them upon what were just formerly apes.

And just like the first humans that felt blind their entire existence until they opened their eyes to the wonders of life, so does Cas.

As a wholly selfish creature, he sinks into Dean, hoards and cherishes what everything the man offers him because now he can’t live without it. How he managed those months without him, without even remembering him, seems impossible now that he’s back. He can’t let anything happen, can’t do anything push Dean away.

Dean can moan and complain as much as he wants, but Cas will talk to him before making such big decisions- especially if the action affects Dean in any way. He won’t do anything until Dean understands what he wants and what he wants to do. He’ll adore Dean until the man will never doubt how much he means, how he is _everything_ to Cas, and none of his actions harbor any ill intent towards him.

Eventually, his grace closes and condenses into its new form. Though still not possessing the same raw power as before, it has been refined in a way Cas couldn’t hope to have it restored. His wings will never fly as far, but they are faster and more maneuverable than ever before. His true form has dissolved and now only this body carries him, yet the amount of grace he can exert exceeds what he could do before.

“Cas, buddy,” Dean nudges his shoulder, and Cas reluctantly pulls his head back. “What’s with the light show?”

Now that Cas has made such an important step in redeeming himself, it’s a bit easier to think with a clearer head. Daphne’s still here, who he really needs to talk to, and there will be plenty of time in the Impala to talk about what happened in terms the human mind can understand.

Though he will have to impress that everything done was by Dean’s soul, and in a very instinctive way, so Dean doesn’t have any strong negative reaction.

Standing, Cas helps Dean up too. “I’ll explain as we go to Sam.”

Dean frowns, but then nods when Cas jerks his head towards Daphne. “Cool, I’ll be by the car.”

Cas watches Dean go, taking the moment to relish in the outstanding way events transpired here when it could have gone so much worse. Though he has the rest of his life to be utterly grateful and in awe of this moment, of which he always will be, and talking to Daphne is more time sensitive than his current emotions.

“Daphne,” He speaks softly as he steps up to her, not wanting to add to the fear into the shock plastered on her face. “You have probably realized I am not human.”

She blinks rapidly at him, glancing over his shoulder as if she expects to see his wings pop back out. “Emmanuel, what-”

“My name is Cas,” He interrupts, a tiny grin tugging his lips as the nickname he’s been so fond of is now his true name. “And I am an angel."

_-of the Winchesters. Warrior of Humanity. Seraph of Hunting._

The rest of his title continues in his mind, his grin expanding. A new identity, his official one, but the one that he’s been fulfilling ever since he saved Dean’s soul from Hell. One that’s been true the moment he defied Heaven to help Dean stop the apocalypse.

“An angel…” Daphne breathes, and it’s best not to tell her the truth of her faith. “Wow, that’s… that’s incredible.”

“I am in debt. You cared for me while I was lost, explained my emotions that I didn’t understand even before I lost my memories, and treated me as a friend without knowing who I was.” His grin turns softer as he places his hand on her shoulder. “You are my friend, you always will be. And if you ever need me, pray and I will hear you.”

Her head bobbles rather than nods, but her voice is sincere and happy. “I’m so glad you found love, and I’ve had such a great time being with you these months.” She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand on her shoulder. “If you ever need more help figuring out your human emotions, I’ll be here.”

Cas nods, solemn. “Thank you. Dean has a wonderful heart and a pure soul, but he’s awful at talking about emotions.”

“Good luck then,” She giggles, the shock still very much so present in her eyes. “I suppose this is goodbye then.”

“For now.”

He steps back, waving as he turns around. As a parting gift, and another thank you for saving him, he fixes the door with a sharp flash of grace. Knowing his grace, feeling it again when he only accessed the top in order to heal, is certainly refreshing. Yet, when he incinerates the demon’s vessel into ash, the potency of it within his vessel vastly surpasses any expectation after the souls of Purgatory ravaged it.

Here he is, needing to redeem himself to Dean, but instead receiving gifts from him instead.

Cas takes the front seat in the car that's, surprisingly, not the Impala. As the car’s engine rumbles through the seat, he begins the process on organizing his thoughts into a way that will be best for Dean. He probably only has five minutes to do so, until Dean knows his way out of the small town and will start to question him.

He’ll start with his wings.

“Wow, that’s, uh, wow.” Sam mumbles from the front seat, glancing back at him and then Dean. “So, you’re an angel, can do all the same things, but just not a normal one?”

“Yes, it may be easier to think about it as if I was a different breed of angel.” Cas frowns, cleansing the next blood spot he finds on his trench coat. “Perhaps a different species would be more apt. As all other angels have a connection to Heaven and have forms sustainable outside their vessels.”

The brothers share a look, communicating without speaking. Cas isn’t ignorant enough to think it’s anything other than him. Hopefully, after profusely apologizing once he healed Sam out of his medically induced coma, they don’t think he’s going to betray them again. He understands their wariness, but it would be physically damning due to his transformation to cause them harm in such an extensive way again.

Dean taps the steering wheel, “So you’re stuck with us?”

“If you’ll have me.”

There’s a silence that lasts exactly 11.34 seconds. Seconds that the familiar and wrenching ache comes back in full force in his chest. It’s not exactly preferable now that this vessel is so intertwined with his grace and his emotions. Especially now, especially that he faces the real possibility that the Winchesters may simply kick him out.

“Why not?” Dean grins at him in the rearview mirror. “Team Free Will. Two hell-ragged hunters and one fallen angel against God’s dickiest monsters.”

Sam huffs, a stunned smile trying to grow. “What could go wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Cas grins. It doesn’t crinkle his face, but it almost seems like physical relief as he stares at the back of Dean’s head. He’s been accepted, against such a low probability, he has a chance. A chance to do good in the world after causing so much harm. A chance to rebuild himself into a better friend for the Winchesters.

And a chance, however slim, to build something more with Dean.

“I quite like those odds.”


End file.
